Tragedy and Giving

Dear Carol,

We have been graced to live past our twenties and enjoy those first few years of a youthful marriage when the world was our dream. Not everyone gets that luxury. You and I have spoken of early times with our husbands and children, and that is the reason I want to share the following story. I wonder if I would have been as gracious as this husband?

In a very southern town in Louisiana lived a young, vibrant schoolteacher. She always thought her method and desire to make a difference in the young students' lives would someday be her legacy. Nancy was quick- witted and playful in her approach to teaching. She believed that if the children had fun while learning then all life's teachings would present different modes of inspiration. So she set her mission to stimulate the young minds of her students. This also encouraged her to be more creative in her methodology of teaching.

Each morning she looked forward to the eager young minds. She chose to position the little ones into a place in her heart. Nancy was a second-grade teacher, and she knew this was an important age for the little boys and girls. Her manner of instruction, discipline, and kindness were pivotal in their young lives. The self-assured qualities of these fresh little minds would hopefully leave an indelible print to guide them in their days ahead. Although she was in her early twenties, Nancy took her position most seriously. She knew teaching was her destiny and gift.

Early in her career, Nancy was not yet a mother herself and therefore gazed upon each of her students in a very tender and embracing light. She set her goal to being the best teacher for the second graders. She made up her mind to be a role model for these children. She did not know all of their personal stories, but she knew that while they were in her classroom she could offer them a school year of guidance on many fronts. Such had been the case for her. Her mother died when she was very young, and it was a second-grade teacher who had helped her through that terrible year.

Maybe that was why she decided to become a second-grade teacher. She had never told anyone except her family members how the smile and kindness of Miss Wallace helped her address each day without her beloved mother. The years passed quickly in her life. She always remembered Miss Wallace making such a lasting impression. Privately, maybe she knew that all the long and empty nights after her mother's death were somehow softened by the smile, gentle instruction, and teachings of that wonderful second- grade school teacher.

So Nancy inspired her little students daily. Without a doubt, she knew this was her true calling in life. Pleased to enter the classroom each day, a new story of her experiences with those talented young minds captured her husband's interest. He often found her stories amusing. He marveled at her patience because he knew he would never be suited for such a career. Can you imagine maintaining the attention of twenty-seven eight year old children? Such a thought sent shivers down his spine and inspired admiration for his beautiful bride.

Life carried on day to day with the normal routines, his career challenges, and her love of the classroom. Both were so busy, yet happy building their home and life together.

Then, as she drove to work one day, the unexpected happened. Crossing an intersection, a speeding car ran a red light and hit her car broadside. Once the ambulance arrived Nancy was rushed to the hospital and placed immediately on a ventilator. Having sustained severe head injuries, she was not able to breathe without the assistance. Lying helpless, she appeared so young and fragile. Her body still showed remnants of blood from the car accident. Nancy's head sustained such an acute trauma that she suffered massive cranial hemorrhaging. In the hospital bed her body lie still, to the untrained eye she appeared to be asleep. Nancy was never to regain consciousness. Her demeanor displayed the absence of movement, lifelessness. In an instant, life was stolen, dreams broken, a future robbed.

Once her husband arrived, he gazed upon his young, beautiful wife who had such incredible talents to share. Now everything had been taken from her. Speechless, he stared in disbelief. Memories raced through his mind as he recalled the morning and the tenderness his precious wife displayed walking out of the door. As he stood next to her and held her hand, he prayed for resolve of this horrific nightmare. The hours passed, and each hour seemed longer than the hour before. No change. Frozen in place and pale, he held her hand and hoped against hope for some response. No change came, just a lifeless hand.

"Wake up! Be strong!" he pleaded. Over and over he prayed for her to come back to him. Tears flowed from his eyes as he stood there in disbelief.

After twelve long and enduring hours, the worse nightmare happened. The door to her room opened, and the medical doctor slowly paced to the front of the bed and requested that Nancy's husband leave the room while he examined her neurologically.

Mark turned and removed himself from this surreal scene. Just prior to departing he turned and spent what seemed like eternity focusing on the image of his beloved wife. Still in shock from the morning's events, he moved slowly.

Impatiently waiting outside the door and listening carefully in case good news would arrive, Mark stood quietly. The hospital noise seemed amplified—moving carts, papers rattling, and buzzers going off from the adjacent patients' depleted IV medications. How much more would he need to endure before the doctor would give him word? The sound of the opening door announced the doctor leaving the room. Eye to eye, Dr. Roberts spoke in a quieted manner, causing Mark to strain to hear every word.

"We have just declared your wife brain dead," stated Dr. Roberts.

Dr. Roberts continued to speak, but all was silent to Mark. All he could hear was brain dead. He knew Nancy was gone and would not return to him. As the doctor spoke and tried to explain everything to him, nothing made sense. He knew what the term brain dead meant, he knew that she was physically dead and soon the respirator would be removed and this precious person would cease to exist. How could this happen? She looked radiant in the bed.

Reentering the hospital room and moving toward her, he held her hand with such tenderness as deep compassion embraced his heart. Nothing else mattered except these last moments together. How would he recover from this void? They had just begun their life together. This was not fair. The entire situation was out of his grasp.

"Don't let this happen. Don't let her leave. She has so much to offer this world." All these thoughts continued to flow faster than he could comprehend.

And then, when he thought he could not handle another decision, the door once again opened to another stranger entering.

I introduced myself as the procurement coordinator from the medical school. He did not know what that meant. Expressing my compassion for his loss, I continued to explain the term brain death. Still stunned, he could not move. My position was to ask consent for organ donation. This was never an easy task. It was difficult to approach a loved one at the time of death and request consent for donation.

Nancy had signed her driver's license stating she wanted to be an organ donor if possible, and had even discussed this with her husband. Little did either one of them know that this request would come so early in her life.

However, in the case of vascular donors, time is critical. I left the room to allow Nancy's husband to spend the time he needed with his beloved.

After several hours he requested that I return. He'd decided to donate her vascular organs and tissue to allow others the opportunity to live. It is most difficult having to face that your wife will never return home, to her classroom, or to her family. His anguish cut to the core of his being. He thought this could not be happening as their life together rushed through his mind.

A gift of life cannot be measured. As he focused on his lifeless wife, he knew she would never be able to share those precious, amusing stories over breakfast again. Someone else would have a chance to live. Nothing was making sense in all of this despair. Yet time and time again, the human heart opens up to the gift of life, grasping to make some sense of this useless death. He donated his wife's vascular organs and tissue, allowing life to flow into another.

Surprisingly, once the decision was made Nancy's husband began to realize that this gift of life helped the healing. Not that day, but in the weeks to come. The coordinators have seen it over and over again. This selfless gift returned the favor. Again and again donor families have stated how they felt their love one continued to live through the art of donating. The pain of loss was comforted through the grace of giving.

Nancy did leave a legacy, more than she knew. Her time on earth may have been short, but due to her gift many others extended their lives. How often are unexpected gifts given that leave such an impact as life? She knew at an early age the importance of offering her best. Little did she realize that the end of her life would be the start for many others.

You know, Carol, with every experience I am blessed to witness such grace. A husband and wife ended their relationship very early, but I know his wife must be smiling. His decision, her gift, saved several children's lives. Nancy left a legacy even greater than her vision imagined.

Goodnight, my dear friend,

Nina

Miracles and Grace

Dear Carol,

The continuation of Nancy's story is a legacy of its own. That young lady and her husband will never know how their gift began a domino effect.

After surgery to remove Nancy's vascular organs and tissue for donation, her husband returned to the empty home. Little did he contemplate that her unconditional gift to several people across the country was the beginning of new lives for those who feared death at their doorsteps. One cannot imagine the thoughts that raced through his head. Where is my darling now? In a few days the funeral would take place and all that would be left were his memories of her. Her flair that she offered to their home, her zeal for life, could this sustain him? He wondered if he could survive this horrific trauma.

Nancy's husband did not realize the story had a continuation. Nancy's tissue was donated to a two- year-old girl. I was the procurement coordinator. My peer, Margaret, and I were to fly to New York City and bring this vital tissue to surgery to save the small child. Nancy's six-antigen tissue was a perfect match for this young one. Ironically, the north and south came together to save a life. There is always that underlying humor about the dissension between the northern and southern states. But the act of giving transcends all of that history.

So the two-person team, Margaret and myself, made all the necessary arrangements to head to New York City, New York, in the coldest days of winter. Our commercial flight would arrive quickly enough to reach the Manhattan base hospital of Sloan-Kettering. This selfless gift from the teacher who wanted to share her talents with her small little students reached beyond the boundaries of even her own expectations.

As Margaret and I rested quietly on the flight over, we closed our eyes attempting to restore our weary bodies from the long, arduous hours of the previous day's surgery. The amount of energy and alertness that is required from the moment a patient is declared brain dead until the completion of the removal of all vascular organs in surgery can be great.

It is always a double-edge sword, death and life. As a coordinator you have a depth of respect and honoring for the family that has just lost their loved one. This compassion and the importance of the ability to empathize with family members during their horrific grief can't be measured. At the same time that you are the bringer of good news to the desperate family members of another, it could be that a donation will not arrive in time to save a life.

As procurement coordinators, emotions range from grief to praise, which is most understandable. Life persists on one side of the hall while death paid its visit on the opposite side. The transplant team of surgeons and nurses perform the surgical procedures. Great honor and respect go the donor and the family, the heroes in the art of giving. Time and time again I practically felt blessed to witness the love through this giving, especially when the wound was so deep.

Prior to departure, Margaret and I prepared for the trip to New York having the knowledge that we would have plenty of time to prepare for the surgery. However, such was not the case.

The story took place prior to 9-11, and I am not certain the events would have occurred today. In any event, the amount of trust, giving, and believing in the sustenance of life never rung out so true as did in this story.

Almost half way to New York, the pilot announced that the plane was going to be diverted to a nearby state. The weather in New York was too unstable for planes to land.

This could not happen, we needed to be in surgery by six in the evening and there was no way we could contact the hospital to notify them. A small two-year- old was depending us. I immediately called the airline steward and told her about the tissue we were carrying onboard. There we sat with our small red and white igloo container between our feet.

The look in my eyes must have alerted her to the urgency. She told us to wait and she would inform the pilot to the necessity of our arrival in New York. After what seemed like hours because the time passed so slowly, she finally returned to our seat.

She informed us that the pilot had been given special consent to bring the plane into Kennedy Airport because LaGuardia was completely closed to air traffic due to the winds and rain. No one on that plane knew we would arrive in New York because of the gift of someone dying and offering another chance of life to another. This would not happen today, especially after 9-11.

But on that day, the airline steward, the pilot, and even New York Kennedy believed us. Surely, something greater than our plea for assistance was with us; heavenly angels made their presence known that day. All on that plane would indeed reach their destination of New York, and a small child would receive her organ tissue that day.

Margaret and I took a deep breath and thanked our heavenly Father for interceding in that moment. Little did we know the adventure had just begun.

Once we landed it was 5pm and we were in Kennedy airport, which meant that we had to travel all the way into the city and across Manhattan. Thankfully, we traveled with our luggage in hand and did not need to wait for the baggage claim.

As we ran through the airport I announced to Margaret, "Do not worry. I am most familiar with Manhattan, so it will be easy to get a taxi." Little did we know that in the midst of the stormy rain and heavy winds there was a transit strike. Brother, what next? We ran to the curb to our dismay, and I wondered what to do. Then, on the side of my eye I noticed a port authority policeman.

"Mister, mister, please help us. We have to be in surgery at 6pm and there is no transportation to get us there in time."

As I gazed down to look at the time, my heart began to race. Were we going to reach this deadline? With a desperate look in my eyes, I stared deeply into his deep, penetrating look. He gave us a quick look over, saw our small plastic container, and then told us to wait one moment. He said he would call a helicopter to bring us to the hospital.

My first thought was, "Oh no. If planes can't fly in this weather, do I really want to take a helicopter?" The winds were blowing so strongly that I could barely stand up straight. It was dark, rain poured, and the winds made for poor visibility. He did not know, but I said a small prayer, "Please, Lord, if the planes can't land do you think it safe for us to go by helicopter?"

It is amazing the thoughts that race through your mind in a stressful situation. This was clearly a demonstration of my faith. The policeman received his call. He looked at us with disappointment and told us that the weather was entirely too dangerous for us to travel via air. Well, I was relieved. He told us not to worry, that a port authority patrol car was on its way and would help us make the appointed time for surgery. At that point all I could see was backed-up car traffic, rain, wet streets, and darkness. I felt the heavy rain pound against my face. The darkness of this winter's cold, wet evening, the car lights reflecting off of the wet paved streets made for a gloomy night. The tension mounted as the deadline neared.

In fewer than two minutes the patrol car arrived and the policeman opened the car door. He said, "Buckle up, ladies, you're in for a ride." We positioned ourselves securely and what came next can hardly be expressed.

The patrolman turned the car around. We sat securely in the back seat. The policeman had his radio on and was communicating with the port authority. As we anticipated our arrival time he sped down the wet, slippery streets faster than we could imagine possible. The car made its way in and out of traffic. We could not believe our eyes. Margaret and I held tightly to the metal bars separating the driver from us. Then, before we knew it, we were at the Lincoln Tunnel and, to our surprise, even though the port authority had closed the tunnel, we were allowed to swiftly race to our destination—Manhattan. Tears began to roll down our eyes. Only heaven could have made this happen. We went through the Lincoln Tunnel without a single car in our way. As the tears flowed down our cheeks all we could say was, "No one will believe this." The act of giving from a schoolteacher and her husband, small words like thank you seem embarrassingly inadequate. The responses of the steward, the airline, the airport police, the patrolman and the port authority—what heroes: this memory never forgotten. It was beyond explanation. Tears poured from our eyes as we praised New York City.